Wirewalk
by rosepetals-electric
Summary: A young woman born with a highly attuned sixth sense is sucked into cut-throat Kindred society. Threatened and exploited by a not entirely qualified, arrogant neonate prince of Los Angeles into predicting stock market trends, an eccentric albeit intense bond develops between two very different individuals as the final nights impend. OC x LaCroix (eek! :)
1. Smog and Mirrors

***NOTE***

Here is a link to my DeviantArt. I am posting little pictures I take using the console from Vampire the Masquerade:Bloodlines. Most of the pictures are just silly and for fun, but they mostly show LaCroix in unusual poses. Since a lot of people reading the story probably like LaCroix, I posted them for your amusement.

Have fun, ducklings!

It won't let me post the link, so just search for "rosepetalselectric" on Deviant and you'll find the pictures.

* * *

Bad air, bad food, bad water. What a world people had made for themselves. In a sea of minimum wages earners, a select few buoyed themselves in their houses in the hills and offices and luxury vehicles, and there was a despair here. It was palpable, it was oppressive as the sooty yellow clouds that twined like floating chicken livers around the horizon and betwixt the many tall, gleaming office buildings on hot, drawn out, polluted days such as this one.

But she was glad to have landed this little job, glad to be on her feet, glad to be alive. It was a new day and she was thankful. This would be her second week doing secretary work for the Insurrection Baby Formula Foundation, and although she did not think much of the head secretary that was shadowing her, she was good at this sort of thing. She couldn't complain, really. If asked she might even concede that she liked secretary work.

"Well, cutting it close but thank God you're on time! There's a whole stack of paperwork you can start proofreading."

A tall, olive skinned scarecrow pointed flippantly toward a mountain, albeit neatly stacked, of manila folders. When the anemicly thin woman stood up to her full height, she was easily six feet tall in heels.

"Darleen-"

"It's Diana, Miss Fordyce."

"Right, my apologies. So Diana, you need to stay late this evening. I need someone to finishing packing up for this idiot girl that's leaving the company. I would do it but I have to go get my daughter at five, ok?"

Petite and of milky, freckled complexion with softly curling dark hair, Diana was fresh looking and innocently complacent in her gratefulness to have some stability in her life at the still tender age of twenty-two. She hadn't finished school yet, and the thought of it weighed on her conscience greatly at times. Her mother's side of the family were not shy to tell her that she was a failure, that her parents would be disappointed and that she just wasn't made of the right stuff.

But what did they know? Coming this far had been extremely tough going, and it was all she could do not to lose her mind amidst the stress and terrible pain she had been enduring on a daily basis for so long. To be here now, with the right medication, with decent pay, doing bitch work for an unsuccessful model in her late thirties was just fine in her book for the time being.

"Yes, Miss Fordyce, I can manage that. Where is her office?"

Sucking her teeth in irritation, the head secretary fretted over the lush, fragrant contents of her Italian leather purse that had spilled out. Severely straight, cropped black hair flopped oddly in front of her chiseled face.

"Uhh, let's see...it's room 306, should say "Christine J."...uh, ninth floor... Just put everything in boxes and tape them really well. Then you can go home."

"Good as done."

It was getting dark early. Diana liked the dark. It was comforting to her, like the moon was comforting. And yet, as the elevator carried her past floor six, then seven, then eight, she wondered if this could really be right. Why did this former employee have an office on the ninth floor?

She got off the elevator and headed down the hall in search of room 306. It was rather opulent, with thick red carpet and soft yellow lights. But there was no room 306 to be found, try as she might, scouring the the u-shaped hallway.

_This can't be right...well, perhaps I'll go back down. Hah! Was she sending me on a wild goose chase or what?_

The delicately built young woman crumpled to the plush floor before she could press the elevator button. Miraculously she did not hit her head again'st the door, but perhaps it would have been better that way because she hurt. And it was a pain worse than child birth, supposedly. Worse than breaking bones.

"Oh...no..."

It felt as if her nerves were curling in on themselves as wood is peeled away by an adept wittler. Searing, white hot fire engulfed her limbs, neck and torso, inducing an aching sort of nausea that strained for release. As she lay writhing and muffling her screams with a wad of her tweed jacket in her mouth, she dimly recalled taking the pill out of the bottle and placing it on the table. She could not recall actually taking the pill.

For at least twenty minutes she lay prone in front of the elevator door. At some point she was able to feel around in her purse for her prescription. It was very much to her relief to find it nestled amidst the other contents. Just barely able to mouth the pill from her trembling fingers and swallow it, the joints and ligaments in her hands screamed in unison with the rest of her body, a dissonant, bleating chorus that threatened to drown her consciousness under the weight of her torture.

Hazy, grey mist smeared her line of sight. However many hours later, for she could not tell, a loud ping sounded. She was dimly aware of someone stepping over her.

"Wake up. What are you doing here?"


	2. Stranger

"I said you need to wake up! No one is supposed to be up here. Explain yourself."

However smooth and eloquent, there was an affected quality to this person's speech that reminded Diana of some American made movie where the actors did a poor job of trying to feign a British accent.

(_I'm a vampire. I want drain you of your blood.)_

"Y-You're a vampire! You want my..my blood...excuse me?"_  
_

Diana was nearly flung onto her feet by the whoever this man was that just got off the elevator. Knees buckling, dimly amidst her shock she noted that there was no more pain save for a faint, pulsing ache that lingered in her extremities.

"What did you say? Repeat that!"

Vetiver and musky ketones assaulted her nostrils. Diana would have found the rich concoction pleasant at any other time, had she not been being shaken now, cool hands slapping her cheeks til they stung.

"Answer me!"

"I'm sorry! I...what did I say?...you're a vampire?"

"Why are you calling me that?"

"I don't know sir! I think you said it. I think you just told me that you were a vampire and that..that you want my blood!"

"Preposterous!"

A pair of arctic eyes held her gaze. They were flat and unseeing as any sharks, and yet she could tell that this was the sort of person that saw everything.

"**You will tell me why you called me that."**

It felt as if a foot was being pressed all the way into the center of her head. Like an agitated dog, the urgent to vomit snapped from within her gut abruptly.

"Oh...what are you doing?"

Cold, hard fingers clawed at her chin. Her head was yanked forward, dark waves of hair spilling over her shoulders.

**"YOU WILL tell me why you called me a vampire."**

Again the strange pressure wormed it's way inside her skull, squeezing and masticating it's contents in an attempt to extract something from her.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir! I must have been hearing things! Pay it no mind, I passed out earlier, must have hit my head is all sir!"

Vision still blurry from her episode earlier, the translucently pale quality of the strange man's skin tone leapt out at her before anything else. A crisply, if not eccentrically, dressed young man stood squarely with arms crossed. Expression impassive, his eyes still burned icily in contrast to a meticulously combed head of cropped, gold colored hair. Sculpted, somewhat down-sliding features lended an air of indolence and affluence to his person. Distorted by the confused snarl he wore, the wide, cherubic bow of his upper lip was oddly Venusian for what seemed to Diana an aggressive, severe, if not dispassionate character.

"Why are you up here?"

Combing her fingers obliquely through her messy hair, she felt strongly compelled not to make eye contact with him again. Looking down, she spoke to him as firmly as she could.

"I was sent up here mistakenly to help a former employee move out of her office. But I...I forgot to take my medication today and so I passed out. I'm sure I've been laying here for several hours."

Scarcely before she was able to blink, Diana was hauled into a room and plopped in an office chair. The imposing young man slapped her hard across the face. She noted that he was not very tall, nor was he particularly well built, but this did not do much to assuage her encroaching fear.

"Look at me. If you wish to live, you will tell me why you said those words to me. You will tell me your name and your position in this building. I will find out if you lie to me. And if you do lie, you will suffer more greatly than could ever have been dreamed. Do you understand?"

_Could it be any worse than all the other shit I've had to endure? Oh God, I just want to keep my job. I was just starting to get comfortable.  
_

"Yes sir, I understand."


	3. Convincing

That slap to the face was supposed to hurt, this much she knew. But such was the extent of her suffering last evening that the blonde man's hand was more or less not registered by her frazzled nerves when it collided with the fair, dappled skin of her cheek. Still she jumped in fear, for the sound of it sang loudly throughout the small space they were in. She fear what he planned to do to if she did not give him the answers he sought, being that his restraint was so lax as to unapprehensively slap a woman.

"What is your name? Who do you work for? What is your business in this building?"

"My name is Diana Adamczyk. I work as a secretary for the Insurrection Baby Formula Foundation. As I stated earlier, I had been instructed specifically to help a former employee move her things out of her office on the ninth floor of this building."

"Why did you call me a vampire?"

(because he is one)

_Stop! Why are you telling me this nonsense? You must mean figuratively, right? This is becoming more and more apparent, thanks for the warning in advance, guys!_

"I...er...the word just popped randomly into my head. I'm terribly sorry to have offended you. I see that you take my words seriously, ah, I mean...that you find them very offensive, in other words."

"Do any of the employees mention the word "vampire"? Do they gossip about people in the building, calling them vampires or the like?"

"Not to my knowledge, sir. No."

Diana remembered that, randomly throughout last week, images of fangs had been floating to and fro in her mind's eye. However, she had passed off the mental pictures as paranoia, ignoring her spirit helpers and her own intuition in fear of what the future might hold. She had not been able to sit down and meditate, nor was she in the position to worry when she was just trying to get through the tenebrous, fragile state of near poverty she had been enduring. Sometimes when she saw what looked to be an omen or premonition, it never came to fruition anyway.

And yet, Diana knew that her extra sensory perception and connection to the "other side" had manifested more strongly in the last year than in all her life. It had been screaming in her ear a few months ago when she insisted on staying involved with the very same young man that left her without even a goodbye. It had guided her to her position at this company, now precariously balanced on the whims of some paranoid, high-up employee that her intuition labeled a "vampire".

_Why the hell didn't you guys make me take my pill, then? And now this guy might end up dumping my body in the ocean because I passed out on the apparently forbidden 9th floor and, to make things worse, profiled him as a vampire._

Sometimes you just don't want to know. Sometimes you just don't want to hear the truth, don't want to see what lay ahead. Inwardly, the young woman conceded that she had been busying her mind to such an extent that advice from the ethers could not come through. She had been so worried about her financial situation, so heartbroken and so damned afraid to listen that she missed out on the advice she really needed to hear.

"You needn't be afraid for their safety. No harm will come to any of your fellow coworkers, I hope you understand...But please, tell me now if there is any gossip going 'round at all about vampires or such silliness."

_Is he insane? Does he realize how weird this sounds?  
_

Diligently, she shook her head.

"I swear to you, sir, that I've not heard any gossip whatsoever going around about vampires or such things."

She figured that he must be an admin of some sort. Had he been up late partying? Perhaps he had just done a little too much coke. It was Friday after all.

_He's not sniffling though. And for all his going on about vampires, he seems fairly calm and focused._

In spite of the absurdity, Diana could not deny the fact that she had been the one to call him a bloodsucking vampire. She could not deny that she had been seeing vague, unsettling omens of fangs the week before. Perhaps this was a metaphor for some terrible loss she would have to endure at the hands of this person.

Or perhaps he belonged to one of those gothic cults where people made fangs from custom plaster molds and drank each other's blood. It wouldn't surprise her. It was LA, after all.

"You mentioned that the word had just randomly entered your mind. Explain that."

"Well sir...this might be a lot to swallow, but I sometimes..."

_Should I tell him? It doesn't seem that he'll let me go until he gets an answer._

The pale young man crossed his arms. His eyes were dangerously cool. She could not forget that only minutes before he had struck her face.

"...sometimes I "see" things...you know? I will hear things, predict things that come to pass. I was so delirious when I woke up that I did not have a mind about me to allow me to hold my tongue."

"You see things? Like a diviner? A fortune teller?"

"I wouldn't put it in those terms, as that generally denotes one who is a scam artist. I suppose you could call me a medium, a clairvoyant. Although sometimes my intuition, as I prefer to call it, does not always provide me with clear answers."

Cocking his head, the young man looked her up and down scrupulously.

"Can you tell me things about myself, then? Information that no one else would know but me and perhaps a select few individuals?"

"Well, yes...I would have to take a moment to clear my mind before I did that...but yes."

"Do you know who I am?"

"I don't sir. I don't know your name. But I can see pictures...I can try to answer any questions you have."

"Where was I born?" he asked nonchalantly, sliding into an office chair. His expression seemed a bit lazy to Diana, as if he did not really want to be bothered with anything. That lofty, affected manner of speaking could not escape her. It was as if he were trying to imitate her, poorly, and yet somehow it was not corny enough to be unpleasant to the ear. He really seemed to believe it.

"Ahhh...alright...let me close my eyes..."

_Ok, please come through. Please be clear._

"OK, I'm seeing beaches...are you French? I see what looks to be the French flag...and I'm hearing...what is this?"

Diana was squinting now, sure that he found her very stupid looking. She truly hoped that he didn't slap her again.

_This man is terrible. I should just run for it. _

"...cull..cullaaayy...? Cull-ay?"

"And what is my age, miss?"

Diana almost choked.

_What the hell am I seeing here?_

"I'm sorry, but the information I'm receiving...it makes no sense."

Leaning forward, the young man's eyes glittered sharply.

"Go on. Just tell me what you are, ah, seeing."

Shaking her head doubtfully, Diana braced herself.

"You're...you're...two hundred a-and...seventeen years old?"

The young blonde man's eyebrows arced. She could not tell if they did so out of surprise or fear.

**********HOWDY, Y'ALL!***************

Hehe, so yeah...This is a weird fanfiction, I know. But I do want to stay at least moderately canon with LaCroix, just to let you know. LaCroix IS a jerk, an asshole, a charlatan. Of course, my version of LaCroix will probably end up being quite a bit nicer than the "real", canon LaCroix would. But who knows, really, with a lovely, psychic chick such as Diana in his life?

At any rate, hopefully everyone realizes that LaCroix isn't able to use Dominate on her effectively for whatever reason. This is freaking him out. He is contemplating killing her, of course. But as to be expected, her usefulness becomes all too apparent to him very quickly...

Thanks for reading and sorry for any bad grammar or spelling. I am just trying to churn chapters out, not spending too much time on them lest I keep rewriting them. Keep checking in, the plot will thicken and things will get romantic...eventually! ;P


	4. Convictions

A hard buzzing reverberated throughout the crown of her skull.

_Is he doing that thing again? That thing where he looks at me and makes my head ache?_

Many random pictures flashed before her mind's eye. She experienced many different emotions at once. She felt fear, anger, despair, very little joy. Much frustration. Images of sand stretching out for miles, an alien shore who's origins were not of her own memory. Many people collapsing, piles of bodies, gunpowder, blood draped as if some endless, fetid sheet, sullying the atmosphere til it became all dank and sour. The sense of being invaded, abruptly followed by a bloodcurling screech that belonged to a young woman. Despair, fury. Open flesh, cold and stiff with frost. More gun powder, the stink of iron filings. Then nothing.

"Well well...that's quite a talent you have. Although, I'm not altogether convinced yet."

The blonde man's tone of voice had shifted subtly. Where earlier he was deadly cool, now he was merely removed, flippant even.

_So he's not contesting anything I said. _

"But if I am to give you the benefit of the doubt, then tell me...what stocks did I invest in today?"

_And he is so pale. That just isn't natural. I remember my classmate was an albino, but you saw the pink beneath her skin..._

Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind and allowed the vastness of space and time to fill the empty, quiet places appropriately. Foreign memories still tugged sporadically at her consciousness. She will them to leave her be as she sought the answer to her detainer's question.

"Some kind of microchips, sir?"

He drummed his slender, white fingers on the aluminum desk.

"Yes indeed."

Diana thought hard, the space between her eyes throbbing slightly.

"If I may, sir...you'd be better off buying up macadamia nuts."

"Macadamia nuts?" he mused, albeit suspiciously, scratching his freshly shaved chin. The more she observed him, the more uneasy she felt.

_One time this girl knocked herself out on the diving board. When the coach brought her out of the water, her lips were the same color as this man's are. _

Nervously she averted her large, dark eyes. It must have become apparent to him that she was scrutinizing some aspect of his person, for his tawny eyebrows furrowed and his willfull, condescending force of personality impacted her guts, making her heart leap up into her throat. Somehow she was not frightened too badly, however. Deep within her solar plexus calm had been cultured by nervous tensions as rich, yellow butter is cultured by force of the churn. Blibs of serenity gathered in ripples and spooled throughout her being. The immense pressure that had been compacting her spirit after months of just trying to survive on nothing but the half hearted affections of some disenchanted, hungry youth, the episode of suffering from last evening; the weight of it all had rubbed away her reserves til they were as her velveteen, champagne colored boyshorts worn threadbare betwixt her inner thighs.

There was calm acceptance. If he were to kill her, then so be it. It could not be any worse than all that she had endured for her time on this wicked, burnt out planet. No worse than any trials she would suffer for this faded, maligned city carcass , chaotically teaming with defiant, aimless spurts of life even in the most futile, eaten out places as did the many jewels, car lights and tower lights and window lights, manically announce themselves to the encephelitic, yawning Los Angeles night time horizons.

But something told her that death was not in the cards today. Because if had been, she was sure that he already would have killed her. She didn't know who or what he was, but she had been around his kind before and knew that the spark that animated her slender person was air beneath his fingers. This was someone who have no qualms about doing her in for whatever reason.

_He just might be a vampire of some sort. I'm sure that he was planning on shooting me in the head earlier. But he would have done it by now._

"So...I'm going to invest in macadamia nuts today. And if it looks to be a sound decision, I will further seek your counsel. Until then..."

Standing up to his full height, he opened the door and motioned for her to leave.

"...you will stay in my guest quarters. And the position you hold at your company shall be terminated."

Diana's heart sank to her feet. She trailed his dark outline numbly all the way up to the penthouse.


	5. Angel Lines

At an early age, she had learned to read her mother. "Read" in the sense that, if she concentrated, her mother's emotions and thoughts became apparent to her without a word being said. The first time they demonstrated themselves in swirling masses of color, effervescent and of various, mutable shades that were dull in some areas and vibrant in others. As she grew in years she began to confuse her mother's emotions and thoughts with her own, then with others.

But after spending much time within the public school system, Diana's thinking mind blotted out her art of knowing. Her parents hadn't ever disaproved of their daughter's strange claims when she would say things like,"Mommy, I know you're sad today even though you're smiling. I can see the dark purple cloud around you again," or, "Daddy, I think Grandma is waving at you." It was hesitantly conceded that such gifts ran on her father's side of the family, although he was adement that he inherited none of them.

Nearly the polar opposite of her mother, her father was a high powered civil rights attorney. Composedly compassionate, forceful and with both feet set in the earth, Diana felt confident that her father would always take good care of her mother. They both loved each other and her mother greeted him every evening with a kiss when he came home from work. Their daughter could not remember a time when they ever went to bed angry at one another. Such was the gentle knowing and perspective between them. They had a partnership, one for life, and they remembered this daily.

Yet Diana had felt so sorry for her mom at times, a worried, anemic flower that never got enough sun, that wilted behind closed doors as she fueled herself on prescription drugs and antioxidants and busied herself with inane things so she didn't have to think about her own parents, her own failures, her own loveless childhood. Only after two long-suffering attempts had they been able to bring a child into the world.

The others had evacuated themselves from her mother's uncomfortable, rigid womb. This had been admitted to Diana quietly, in heartbroken fashion. But the seed of her father had cultured within her mother's sweet, honeyed egg, soft limbs and little hairs and bones anchoring to the delicate lining of her uterus. They were blessed with a daughter.

"How precious is new life, and how fragile!" said Diana's mother to her, many times.

Not that her mom was just some coupon clipping, neurotic housewife. She was an artist, a painter. She had such a talent for water colors that a few of her flower portraits made it all the way to the White House where they hung in some hall way. This was one's of her mother's greatest achievements, but it did not detract from the joy of her craft. She worked with paints because she loved to.

Fingers snapped aggravatingly close to Diana's face.

"Wake up! Don't dawdle."

She felt herself being pushed forward down a dimly lit hall. Her entourage herded her behind another set of closed doors, these more slick and modern than the last. The room was large and sparsely decorated, but very elegant. The windows were completely covered with dark green velvet curtains. The floor was marble, the bed high and very plush. If anything, this was a chamber for deep sleeping, not just a bedroom.

"You will stay here until I say otherwise. There is a kitchen on the 10th floor, you can have whatever you find in the refrigerator. You have a bathroom."

Shock was settling in. Words fumbled themselves on her rubber tongue. She felt hot and cold at once. This was just too much.

"Excuse me, sir...but I have a roommate. I can't just leave unannounced. I have to pay the rent, and I have no clothes..."

"Call your roommate. Tell her it's an emergency and that you'll be by to fetch your things."

"She'll throw my stuff out. And I...I don't have a car. I don't have the money to rent a moving van..."

Sighing impatiently, the blonde man flicked his wrist.

"Just go to sleep or what have you. I will reserve some of my time, though it is indeed precious, to discuss this tomorrow."

"Thank you. Good night, ah... sir."

_He hasn't told me his name. Should I ask? No, no...hmmmnnn...I'll bet it's Blaine, or Kenneth, or Edward or something like that..._

An image of what looked to be a Christian cross flashed before her eyes repeatedly. Setting her purse down on the bed, she retrieved her contact case and began unscrewing the lids.

_Perhaps a Christian name? Judas? Ezekiel?_

Humor is the greatest form of empathy, Diana thought. A few moments passed as she fiddled with her things absent mindedly, whereupon she sensed his prescence. Daring herself to look up, the sight of his face nearly made her startle. The rosy, dim glow of the bedside lamp cast his features in ghastly relief. High, sharp cheekbones jutted and cradled his narrowed, artic eyes. His cheeks were hollowed out by shadow, mouth heavy yet tight lipped. The cherubic curve of his upper lip made him look oddly angelic, surreal even, along with his light colored hair. He reminded her of a painting of Lucifer, the devil figure of Christian mythology, that she had seen as a little girl, back when she attended church.

"I realize that this is all very sudden. I'm sure you're confused. But don't try to leave unannounced..."

He turned around briefly, listening for something that was lost on her ears.

"You will not get very far at all."

"I won't, sir."

"That's good, then. Until tomorrow night. Sleep well...Ms. Adamzyck, is it?"

"That's right. Diana Adamzyck."

"Polish surname? But aren't you British? You sound British."

The blonde man seemed conversational now. But Diana could tell he was just going through the motions. It all sounded rehearsed.

"Yes. My family emigrated from Poland to Great Britain."

"And where were you born?"

"Warsaw, Poland. But I came over with my family when I was a young girl."

The blonde man shrugged. Diana thought he looked sharp in the black suit he wore, although she could not get over the horned shoulder pads of his suit jacket. To say that his dress sense was odd did not do him justice, nor would it be right to say that he was dressed archaicly. Definitely unusual, though. And therefore fitting.

"Well, I'm sure you've found your stay in Los Angeles to be _quite an interesting experience_."

His upward inflections hinted disaproval of something, of Los Angeles perhaps, of it's colorful people, it's turgid landscapes, it's smog.

"Oh yes, sir, very much so..."

It felt ok to speak with him. She didn't feel as if she were going anywhere she shouldn't have been. As surreal as it was to be held captive by this strange man, fear was unable to anchor itself in heart for very long, as nothing shocked her any more. However, the odd information she had gleaned about him had been more or less confirmed. Thus logic told her that this man was obviously an insane person, waiting for the right time to strangle her or cut her up in some deranged vampire inspired fantasy. But her intuition told her otherwise. A cold-blooded man, but not an immediate threat, nor an insane person either, despite the circumstances.

He shut the door behind him softly. She supposed that he stayed on the latter floors of the tower somewhere. After all, she mused, he described this area as _his_ guest quarters.

"What is going on here? Please, tell me! Help me..." she pleaded aloud, softly.

(wants to use your gift)

"No shit! He wants to exploit me. Why didn't you guys warn me about this beforehand?"

(tried)

Diana nibbled her fingertips.

"Did I predict correctly?"

A faint "yes" echoed throughout her consciousness.

"But will he kill me? How long is this going to go on?"

(just focus. don't fear)

Chuckling softly, she lay her head down. It sunk deliciously into one of the pillows.

"What about that vampire crap? And about him being two hundred and...what was it...seventeen years old?"

(the truth is strange)

"What the fuck? Oh, if only I hadn't ignored you...if only I hadn't closed myself off to spirit..."

The image of the cross she had seen earlier flashed before her eyes.

"Crosses? What? Jesus? Am I going to be nailed to the cross? I don't understand you at all. Some help you are!"

She covered her eyes, leaving the soft, pink lamp on. The dark was scary now. It threatened to swallow her up along with all of the strangeness that bombarded itself on her world.

_So he must be an admin...or perhaps he is really a terrorist that has hijacked the building...but he calls these "his guest quarters"..._

Again, the cross floated past her mind's eye.

_Oh...wait a moment. He didn't correct me when I told him that he was born in France...the cross...the cross...in french, it's la croix, so..._

"Oh wow. Ok. I get now, guys. This must be Mr. LaCroix."

The lamp flickered strangely. She took that as a yes.

"How stupid am I! Of course, of course...It's the CEO of the very company I work for. But my, he's young."

She twirled her dark hair.

"Maybe it's his son...maybe...maybe there are secret baby formula recipes to be found up here...that's why he's detaining me..."

Sleep was shrouding her now, forcing her eyes closed.

"...maybe he's worried that I...that I..."

The formally dressed, freckled woman drifted off. But though her sleep might be deep, it was uncomfortable, with dreams she would not remember in the morning blooming with vague crimson tides. She could not know that above her ceiling infernal thirsts were quenched and rich, ripe liquids flowed freely during her slumber.

* * *

Hey guys. Wow, I'm having fun writing this. So now for a recap...Diana is a pretty Polish girl, born in Poland and transplanted to Great Britain.

I hope any British or Polish readers will excuse me if I don't do my character justice in my attempts to make her seem believably native to these countries. I will do my best!

We will learn more about Diana's past, her mysterious and painful condition, as well as see her in action in the future chapters. Oooh boy, the girl is in for a lot of vampire drama. But she's tough. I think she'll make it. As for the LaCroix, his fate is yet to be seen, but I promise that romance will develop slowly between the two of them.

Thanks for reading! ;p


	6. Tools

Coffee was brewing. That was the first imprint laid down upon her pliant waking consciousness. Sour and toasty all at once, the tell tale scent triggered an immediate response. As with any ritual, it was easy to fall into certain desired patterns once initiated. If she were to drink coffee, it would rouse her. Things would feel more normal.

"Oh my god...I'm still here. It's all still here."

Diana wondered what time it was. Those thick, lush curtains blocked out any light from coming in. She checked her cell. It seemed odd for there to be what smelled like fresh coffee brewing at this time.

"One o'clock in the afternoon."

Gingerly stepping outside of her sleeping quarters, Diana remembered she had pointed been her downstairs if she sought kitchen access. She got off on the tenth floor and followed her nose.

There was no one using the tiny, white kitchen space. She saw the coffee pot sitting on the metal counter. Assuming that it was meant for sharing, she poured herself some of the dark beverage and sipped it black, hoping that it was not decaf.

_Oh. I almost forgot._

Diana gave thanks silently and popped a tiny pill the color of a robin's egg.

"You must be Diana?"

Another strange, blonde man emerged from nothingness. This one was different, though. Health flushed his dusky skin, making it all rosey. His features were angular, straight, sharp. Diana would later decide that he reminded her of a cobra with his tall, whip-like body and wide upper torso.

"I was told that you're staying in one of the guest rooms. I drink coffee all day when I'm in the tower. So there's always coffee available, if you plan on getting up late every day."

"Every day? I'm hoping not to be here for very long."

"That's up to Mr. LaCroix."

Diana went silent.

_So it **is** Mr. Lacroix...and this is one of his employees._

She could not help but compare the two. Unlike his boss, this man's flinty green eyes were not particularly thoughtful or scheming. Neither did his gaze meander skeptically, nor was it impassive, instead conveying the mechanical, fiercely present scrutiny of a bird of prey. However, it struck Diana as funny that this man sounded like any other California guy, sounding more at home riding the surf than working for his strange, aloof boss. She also noted that his dress style was much more casual, comfortably worn dark dress pants and dark t-shirt. No fancy get up, but clean-shaven, with short, tawny hair flattened forward on top.

_I get the impression that he served in the military. Maybe he's one of Mr. LaCroix's body guards?_

"I'm Jeffrey. Jeff."

He handed her a receipt.

"Anyway, Mr. LaCroix wants me to check in with you regularly.. Here's my number if you need anything. But only call if it's really important, ok? Like if you're in danger or something urgent like that."

Diana pocketed the receipt. She peered into her empty cup, observing stray coffee grinds as they slid to the styrofoam base.

"This is good coffee. Thank you."

"Yep."

She looked up at him quizzically.

"You drink coffee all day?"

The man that called himself Jeff shrugged. Diana guessed that he was in his early thirties, no later. He looked older than Mr. Lacroix.

"I have to stay on my toes."

Smiling grimly, he nodded a goodbye and left as abruptly as he came. She wondered if he lived in the tower.

Florescent lights continued to drone, filling the windowless space with dull, frizzy noise. Diana to felt even more isolated as she let herself be sucked in by the humming sound. She headed back to her room. She knew that she would need to call her roommate soon, if only to let her know that she was still alive.

_I suppose I'll just say that I'm spending the night with a friend. I won't tell her anything of consequence until I speak with Mr. LaCroix._

Feeling somewhat abashed, Diana admitted that to an extent she was glad to be held captive. Three months ago, her only immediate option was someone by the name of "Cherie" that had announced their prescence via Diana's inbox. In response to Diana's Craiglist ad, she offered a room to the young woman at three hundred and fifty a month, plus utilities.

Jolly and down to earth, Cherie let on that she was in her "late-forties but forever youngl". She even promised to take Diana to all of her favorite organic grocers and show her all of the best, cheap resteraunts that only the local or the savy frequented. Diana experienced doubt as a tugging at the edge of her consciousness but glossed over it, insisting instead that this was just what she needed: an older, laid back hippie lady with a modest room for rent.

Obliging enough to wave the down payment, Cherie helped Diana move in right away.

"Yep, you're gonna really love LA after stayin' with me. I grew up here, it's my favorite place in the world... I can tell we're gonna have a lot of fun!" heartily stated the stout woman as she helped to maneuver Diana's luggage out of the taxi with meaty, capable fists.

"I love havin' young people around. Mostly college kids have roomed with me over the years, like I said. But yeah, y'all keep me young, y'know? Hehehe!"

Things could get dangerous at night, but the apartment complex was not a dirty, regardless. The issue lay in the apartment itself. The smell of wet dog and corresponding excreta assaulted Diana's nostrils as soon she walked through the front door. Much smaller than Cherie had described, the entire space was strewn wall to wall with boxes and various knick knacks.

"Mitzy and Electra! Did you two make a mess again? Did ya? Huh? Did you make a poopy in the house? That's nooottt niiiice!"

Two bow legged, shirt clad chiauhaus with pronounced underbites tumbled over one another in a race for their owner's affections. The little, sand colored dogs would prove to be very pleasant company when they weren't barking or messing all over the stained, worn green carpeting. Diana found her room to be dissapointingly cramped as well but realized she was in no position to complain. So she settled in.

After about a month of subsisting on very little in these new living quarters, Diana noticed that a lot of strange characters frequented Cherie's incense laden room throughout the day. One day Cherie introduced Diana to one of her "boys", an ex roommate approximately of college age, not much older than she. Thin and pasty, he called himself Chad. Though he seemed nice enough, Diana could not overlook his constant fidgeting. As the younger man followed Cherie past the curtain of plastic, neon green beads and into her room, which always smelled overwhelmingly a cloying mix of incense and strawberry air freshener, Diana caught a glimpse of his aura. It looked as if he were covered in greasy, grey sludge.

Halfway through the second month, Cherie started inquiring vaguely if Diana wanted to buy anything from her. Diana figured out quickly enough the sort of wares that her roommate was trying to peddle and declined. Cherie rebounded by insinuating the distinct possibility that Diana would have to cough up more cash for the rent per month.

"It would be a shame if we had to leave this place. I mean, a hundred bucks more a month would go a long way, y'know? And it would keep a roof over your head, y'know. I think this is a pretty good set up you have going her, right? Hehehe!"

_If only I hadn't rushed. I should have listened to you guys..._

Cherie was probably not a bad person. Diana really wanted to believe in the earthy, hippie, den momma character that the jovial woman projected on their first meeting. Diana wanted to think that Cherie had just fallen on hard times, but already her food had gone missing from the refrigerator and her things were being moved around by God knows who. When Diana demanded that Cherie let her put a padlock on the door, the woman feigned hurt and confusion.

"Well I don't know why you'd wanna do that! I like my apartment to feel like a family lives here. I've never had anyone lock themselves in their room as much as you do, let alone buy a padlock! Sheesh!"

_Yes, perhaps it's best that I leave now. I'll find a better living situation after Mr. LaCroix, er, releases me._

She gave Cherie a call, letting her know that she would be back in a few days.

"Oh, ok honey. You have fun with yer new friend, ok?"

There was a tremor present in her roomates voice that Diana did not like. It was apologetic and sly. She really hoped that none of her things would be mangled or stolen while she was gone. If she thought about it, it would be very easy for her to imagine Cherie having a yard sale and selling some of Diana's possessions because "you didn't seem to want em". Cherie sounded just as she did when Diana's food went missing, or when she insisted that she had no idea where that twenty dollar bill went.

She assumed that Mr. Lacroix would see her after dark. Making herself busy, she finished reading I, Claudius and then, in spite of the coffee, fell back to sleep. A rapping at her door wakened her many hours later.

"Diana, it's Jeff. Mr. LaCroix wants to see you."

She smoothed herself over as much as possible before she opened the door.

"Come on, he doesn't like waiting," he said, casual yet blunt, ready.

They both got off at the penthouse. Right away Diana noticed that this was by far the most luxurious floor she had frequented in the tower so far. Jeff opened a pair of ornate, tall doors and ushered her into an incredibly lavish room.

"There you are. Come closer so we can speak."

The smooth voice issued from many places at once. Jeff nudged her out of her reverie, pointing straight to the tall windows in the back of the room. There sat Mr. LaCroix, reclining in what was surely a very expensive chair.

"Hello sir. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

He folded his hands together. His gaze was impassive, bored.

"Yes, well, we'll be quick at any rate. So...I assume that you are comfortable?"

"Very much, thank you."

"Wonderful. Now, you'll need to give my assistant, Jeff, your address. He will retrieve all of your things for you."

The blonde man stood up now, leaning forward on his desk slightly.

"I am glad to say that your predictions, insofar as I can tell, will yield results. I believe that my investment in "Macadamia nuts" shall prove to be a wise one. But of course, the value of investments such as these are subject to change..."

Mr. LaCroix gestured toward her languidly.

"...which is why I believe you will be of a great help to me. There are many elements of my business that are, unfortunately, subject to chance. Such is life. But with your foresight, I may yet be able to cut my losses and increase my net worth even further."

Diana nodded dutifully, with hopes that politeness would move him to keep her stay in the tower short. She sensed that a matter of trust was at hand.

"I shall help in any way that I can sir. But I must warn you that sometimes I am not provided with clear answers. There are no individuals that are infallible in their ability to predict or know that which is decided by spirit to remain unseen."

"But you are generally accurate in your predictions?"

"Yes. However, the element of free will is at play. I just want you to be very understanding of that. So sometimes, for example, I will not be given an answer. Or the answer will be vague. Other times it will ring clear as a bell."

He pursed his lips slightly, nodding to himself.

"Very well. However, you will be consulted often. I require that you monitor the stock market for me during waking hours."

Mr. LaCroix pulled out his IPhone. A buzzing in her pocket caused Diana to startle.

"You have my financial advisor's number, as well as my personal number now. Do not, under any circumstances, reveal them to anyone."

"Y-yes sir...but how did you-"

Clasping his hands together, the blonde man inclined his chin upward, artic eyes expressionless, smirking wanly.

"I have many different types of individuals working for me. In this way, I am able to succeed whilst others fail. By having access to, say, any phone number or email address at a whim, I can save time and effort. At any rate, my financial advisor's name is Ernie and he has been told that you may be calling him during all hours of the day. Tomorrow morning, you should receive an email from him. You are to get up early and go to bed late. You are to watch the market and call him when you think he should buy or sell. Any questions?"

"Yes sir, I understand. But, h-how long will you keep me here?"

"I haven't decided. I suppose once we've established a fair amount of trust, then you may change residence."

"I see. And...you are Mr. LaCroix? CEO of Insurrection Baby Formula?"

"I am Mr. LaCroix. But I am not the CEO of the company you worked for."

"Oh."

The young man's eyes were fixated on her's now. He sniffed faintly, then she felt her head start to compress again.

(dominate)

_What? _

"Your don't blink your eyes, sir."

Mr. LaCroix afforded her a small, tight lipped smile.

"How observant of you."

There was a long silence. Somehow, it was a peaceful one. He was very difficult to read, but when she dared try to feel out his emotions she encountered deep, numb calm. It brought to mind the sharks at the aquarium, endlessly circling their tanks.

"Shall I take my leave?"

The blonde man stood up.

"By all means."

Diana was surprised when placed a hand at the small of her back and ushered her toward the door.

"So we are clear, Ms. Adamzyck? You understand that, tomorrow, you are to stay alert and watch the market for me?"

"Yes sir, I shall."

"Very well then. Good night, miss."

"Goodnight, Mr. LaCroix."

Jeff was waiting in the hall, contemplating his thumbs.

"You alright?" He was smirking at her, although not altogether unkindly.

"I'm fine."

They headed back to her room.

_He will probably walk me to and from Mr. LaCroix's office every time. Mr. LaCroix must think that I'd run away, otherwise._  
_ Why not just lock me in my room, then?  
_

"Mr. LaCroix is an intense character. You'll get used to it. Just don't piss him off and he won't even bother with you."

"Do you know why he's keeping me?"

"None of my business."

Jeff gave her an envelope before he left.

"Mr. LaCroix wants you to have this. He says that tomorrow I need to take you to get your stuff and then we can go and maybe buy some groceries for you, anything you might need."

"Ok, that's great...thank you, Jeff."

"I'll be over early, around seven am. You might wanna call your roommates to let them know we're heading over."

"No, I'd better not. She'll throw my stuff out. Or she'll sell it at the pawn shop."

Jeff crossed his arms and laughed gruffly.

"Ok, I see. Well, she better not pull any shit when we get there."

He patted his hip. Diana's eyes widened.

"It's ok, I won't shoot her on site or anything. I'm just saying, y'know, that she better not try to fuck with us."

"No, I don't think she will. It's kind of a bad area that I'm staying in, but it's only her. Sometimes she has friends over, but they're, well...I think they're junkies."

"Junkies? Why the hell are you staying with someone that has junkies coming in and out of her house? She's a dealer then? How old is she?"

"She's in her late forties and very out of shape. And I think she is a dealer. But I didn't know...or, I didn't want to believe, uh...it's hard to explain. I didn't have any money at the time. It was my only choice."

"Too much info. Ok, so you're roommate is a drug dealer. Good to know. Be up at 7 AM."

"OK, thanks. Good night."

The lithe young man shut the door. Diana fell alseep earlier than she should have. That night, her dreams were rampant with the thudding sound of her heart and nothing else.

**********Hey guys!**********

Sooooooo, just in case you're wondering...No, Cherie is not based on a real character or person that I've lived with(thank the lord!). Rather, she is an amalgam of various people I've observed and known. I do have roommate from hell stories though, but that's another matter altogether.

Sorry, kind of a boring chapter. So Diana will be watching the stock market for Mr. LaCroix now, calling his financial advisor "Ernie" whenever she thinks it would be a good time to buy or sell. I don't know much about stocks and that kind of stuff, so excuse me if anything sounds "off" in the story.

Thanks for reading! xoxoxo


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